Envy
by witchfingers
Summary: [Dark, Envycentered shots.] Chapter 12: If I could be what I want, wouldn't I be what you can't?
1. Envy

_Dark, scary, thoroughly envious. That's all I can say about this._

_**Envy.**_

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_How can I know that there is a way in which people fall in love with eachother?_

_It never happened to me. No one I loved ever loved me back._

_I never loved back anyone that loved me._

_Then how can I know if there is such thing as requieted love? How should I? It seems like something that happens to other people. Those bastards are happy together, they have that loathesome security of being someone else's most important person. But how does that happen?_

_Why does it never happen to me?_

_Why am I the one that looks from a distance at how nice they feel together, those idiots? Why am I so much better than them, and still the one that is feeling resentment towards their happiness?_

_Why?_

_How can I know that it is true that out there, there is someone that might love me back, if I love that person in the first place?_

_But will that person eventually love me too? Or will I be again the one hating, with each fibre of my being, when that one person I crave for ends up with someone else?_

_Why is it that love hurts so much when it should cause happiness, just like the one it causes in those I watch from afar?_

_How should I know? It never happened to me. No one I loved ever loved me back._

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_**A/N: I'm sorry.** _


	2. Infinite

_This was never intended to be a collection of one-shots. But I think it'll turn out this way, after all.  
Dedicated to LeandroGarel. Yeah, you pretty much inspired this, once upon a time, with your first fic._

_**Infinite**

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He figured that, if he were alive, then he'd pulled his guts open long ago. Simply because he wanted to see if it was physically possible to be _so goddamn empty_. The wind whipped against his face and he hated it for that, just as he hated the rest of the world because it only caused pain.  
Blue clashed against blue, and that blue in itself was endless. As it was endless it was everything, but it also and always was nothing. And so, if that sea, and that sky, were really nothing, and he himself was not the original thing; that also made him nothing, then he had nothing to hate about it.  
Wasn't it too desperate to hate the sky? The sea?  
Envy's eyes displayed a fake boredom. Blue, blue, blue...But he was glad it was only that, blue. It was also desperate to hate a color.  
_But_, he mused, _I'm desperate. So fucking, fucking desperate.  
_The sky, the sea, and all that nothing that provoked in him the slightest empathy, were also laughing at him, because there was no way in which one could hate the world without ending hating oneself too, and he was the firm proof of that. The emptiness (against all odds _yes_, he had opened himself once, the pain had been nule, and he didn't know if he was empty or not because _the damned guts kept healing_) was reccurrent, and that blood red ouroboros stood out from the paleness of his unhealthi-ly ivory skin was a constant reminder of that. A morbid forget-me-not. Except, not blue.  
But Envy, as his name hinted, was nothing like blue, and perhaps that was why he couldn't hate the sky, or the sea. Nothing in them suggested they had ever had anything to do with him, and it was hard to hate something that was endless.  
And crouched as he was in the very edge of the cliff, wild mane of hair beaten by an agressive ammount of salt and dissolved water, he felt like an idiot because he didn't remember what he had just said.  
...perhaps he _had_ been talking to the air, as he suspected he had done. He hissed a curse.  
The foaming waves far downwards were the place where the infinite ended. But before his eyes, it stretched far, wide, lazy. Blue.  
Blue that clashed against blue, a blue that was endless and showed him that his own envy, his own self-hatred were enough to prove him that he was alive.

_Kono umi to kono oka to,  
wataru kaze ni kotoba o noseru.  
Sore ga watashi no akashi.

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**YEAH, this gets repetitive. But it's for effect. It was going to be called 'Blue' instead of 'Infinite', but it'd have been too much...  
And I thought I'd had enough of writing Envy n.nU **

**BTW, does anyone know how to include already posted fics into this collection?**

**PS: lyrics? L'Arc-En-Ciel: Shinjitsu to gensou to.**


	3. Ecstasy

_**Ecstasy**

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Yeah, I know that much.

But it gets repetitive, you know? All that everyone says. The funny part is they talk to me, the bastards, as if I had absolutely no idea about that. But, again, what do they know? They aren't me for all that I can tell, the nerve of them.

They treat me as if I were a thing. With all the stares and namecalls. Not that I mind them. I am so very better than them so _they_ should watch it. But it unnerves me: they act as if they knew, and they _don't_. All humans are that way, I see no difference… all thinking they have the answer to things they'll never understand. Pfft, they're so gullible. And so goddamn annoying.

What do they think they are? _God_? That doesn't even exist. It would have pitied me if it did. _Someone_ would have if it did.

But it doesn't, and I don't need it to, because I on my own am more than enough, am better than a thousand of those who believe that praying will make them know better. Tsk. And I know, I'll _always_ know, because I've walked this rotting world for a hell of a much longer time.

And I know more things that they'd ever expect me to. Because if I don't feel _now_ doesn't mean it was always that way.

I know that which comes after the pure ecstasy. And it's not worth two shits.

Satisfaction? Happiness? Love?

Yeah, I know that much.

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**Random. But know I wrote this while at school XD**

**…Also, I love how the word 'ecstasy' sounds.. hehe :P:P **


	4. Green

_**Green**_

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I'm not warm,  
I'm not cold,  
I'm not young,  
More like old,  
I am here,  
But I'm gone,  
I can't tell  
Any more.

Though I'm real,  
touch me and see,  
I'm not what,  
you believe.  
I was loved,  
once ago,  
I could be  
what you pleased.

See the sun,  
see the sky,  
see the pain,  
feel the lies,  
Green oh green,  
mean my name,  
that is how,  
envy hurts.  
Have this now,  
want some more,  
see you laugh,  
wish you woe,

See the gold,  
see the wheat,  
see how bright,  
it can gleam.  
See the green,  
see the grass,  
see how sad,  
green leaves dance.

I know greed,  
I know lust,  
how they bite,  
how they cry,  
I know pride,  
I know sloth,  
The latters  
I know the most.  
I know wrath,  
gluttony,  
none of all,  
is my sin.

I'm not sad,  
I hate you,  
you should know,  
that I do.  
It's not hard,  
actually,  
easier than,  
what you think.

Have this now,  
want some more,  
see you laugh,  
wish you woe,  
See the sun,  
see the sky,  
see the pain,  
feel the lies.

Green oh green,  
mean my name,  
that is how,  
envy hurts.

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**Review? At least to say it sucks?**


	5. Glimpses

_**Glimpses**

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Trisha's eyes opened slowly. Fearfully, and she had to make the greatest effort to keep her eyelids lifted. The scent of coldness floated in her surroundings- like the smell of the hospitals. As warm as it might be, that smell makes which ever the place is go several degrees cooler. Trisha stood up. In the distance she distinguished two people.

'Is Father here yet?' a young man asked, wearily. She walked slowly. 'E-Excuse me...?' she said, in her ever-polite voice.

But those persons didn't hear her.

His interlocutor, a woman who looked no older than Trisha herself, answered a gelid, 'No'. The young man sighed.

Trisha couldn't help her eyes widening. The young man... he was a small version of Hohenheim. But it wasn't him.

'Excuse me?' she said again. Nothing. She didn't seem to be there for those people.

The other woman stood up from her elaborated chair. Even if Trisha was perhaps the most gentle woman alive, she felt her instincts were shouting words of warning towards that person. On the other hand, the boy...

He made Trisha smile.

All of a sudden that woman had left the scene. 'Hello,' the young man said.

She was taken for surprise, but smiled warmly, anyway. 'Hello', she answered. The boy seemed to irradiate calm, coziness. Much unlike the woman.

'What are you doing here, Trisha?' he asked calmly, showing her to take a seat. She absentmindedly did, barely taking time to realize that she was sitting right where the other woman had sat upto some seconds ago.

'I'm afraid I don't know... but...' she paused, looking around. When she didn't recognize the place, she asked, 'where are we?'

In that moment, it didn't feel necessary to worry about who that young man was, or how he knew her name...

The young, blonde man shook his head, with a sad smile. 'This used to be a place. Now it isn't, not anymore...'

'And so, what is this now?' In truth, she had the feeling of speaking to a small child.

He rolled his eyes, the smile lasting in his lips.

'A memory.', he said softly. 'A memory that isn't yours.'

She noticed a shadow crossing his face. 'Are you feeling alright?'

He smiled.

But what had started as a sweet, tender smile, was beginning to scare Trisha. It didn't feel natural.

She took his hand, reassuringly. 'Why am I here?' she asked, gently.

She was greeted with a smirk.

The young looking man stood up, looking down at her. 'To know what you're gonna go through. Because whatever happens, you'll deserve it.'

His cute, almost aryan features became pure silver, as if made from a liquid metal, right before a terrified Trisha.

'I never had anyone like you.' the being said, at the time he took the shape of a bony man with dark emerald hair, and piercing violet eyes. 'Why should anyone else do?' he added, venomously.

'Don't get her into this!' a very familiar voice warned, coldly.

'Hohenheim!' she called.

'She's got nothing to do with _you_, Envy.' he said, and the calculating stillness in his voice made the young mother freeze... That steely man _wasn't_ her husband...!

'She's got nothing to do with you either, eh, Father?'

'Father...?' her eyes widened.

The Darkness grew thicker, until the only thing visible was a pair of vibrant, amethyst eyes...

Trisha Elric woke up with a gasp. It had only been a dream. After looking for a while at her husband asleep next to her, she went back to sleep herself, with a small, relieved smile hinting at her lips.

Unaware of a pair of violet eyes that watched her from the tree outside the window.

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Yeah, I know, RANDOM! But I _had_ to write this fic:3... So, R&R!


	6. Blame

_This one is a little harsh._

**_Blame_**

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no one could ever blame him 

it wasn't his fault he felt empty

it wasn't his fault no one loved him

it wasn't his fault they couldn't love him

it wasn't his fault they hated him

it wasn't his fault he hated them

it wasn't his fault he desired what he couldn't have

it wasn't his fault he couldn't have it

it wasn't his fault that man hadn't accepted him

it wasn't his fault he was a mistake

it wasn't his fault he could never be what _that man_ wanted

it wasn't his fault he wasn't perfect

no one could ever blame him

no one could ever blame him

it wasn't his fault

he had convinced himself it wasn't

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This doesn't have capital leters or punctuation signs because it makes allussion to some sort of mantra... it never ends. **


	7. Tropical

_Yeah I know that poor Envy has nothing to do with the sea and stuff... but I miss it T-T_

**Tropical

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Lust had told him once he'd been born eerily pale, and he'd die that way.

If she were still alive he'd gladly point out how wrong she was.

The skinny sin wouldn't have ever dreamed that years after Dante's definite death, he'd be lying on the beach with his back tickled by the bits of seashells that portruded gently from the ground, eyes looking up at the sky with a blank demeanor. To his ears floated the thunder-like lull of the waves that licked impasively the virgin shores of the finest, softest, most pristine sands.

The tropical sun had tanned his skin in a delicious way. It now shone golden, healthy under the almost-caribbean blue skies, contrasting nicely against the bland, white sand below him. His violet eyes lazily made out the outline of a hazy, green coconut that drilled the gentle waves, to end up beaching where the aqua-green water was shallow.

He mused Drachma was sure a lethargic country. But it was also an intriguing, foreign one, as Wrath had discovered with excitement. He had tagged along that time, and Envy had lost track of him after he'd ran away, chasing a colorful, exotic crab. The elder sin had travelled many regions when he was younger, travelled, explored, evaluated. The best place for an unplanned vacation was most surely that inhospitable moor. The intact beach stretched for endless miles, fading into a Caribbean-esque sea of fluorescent tones.

His nose caught the scent of passionfruit and pineapple, which drifted towards him from the lush, flamboyant vegetation that lined primorously the beach.

The sun was hitting him fully, and he reached for the straw hat he'd set aside, and pulled it over his face.

His thoughts invariably took him to that place they always did, and he hated it. No matter how peaceful the setting was, those faces he loathed so much kept coming back to him each time, even after decades of their deaths. He hadn't been left with anything to envy... so then that envy had given way to an odd feeling of, 'and now.. what?'

He turned around, allowing the warm sand caress his stomach and the unforgiving sunrays fall upon his back.

No matter how much the tropical suntan had changed and healed his drab exterior, the damage was still inside, and it stung a lot.

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**Dedicated to Lone.L ... hey, I said I was going to write this! ;) And there's no palmtrees in it n.n**


	8. Sidelines

**Sidelines

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The hazy afternoon sun spilled over the peaceful, green square.

His legs lazily crossed, arms folded over his chest, he watched, indolent as the birds on the tree over him chirped, the boring, ordinary park his centenary eyes beheld. The white, neat bench he sat on wasn't anything spectacular, either.

He didn't know the name of that city he was in, or had known the name of the previous one. It was just him left, him, and the blue sky was a silent witness to that. No one but his miserable self, that the time had preserved perfect in body, and in the same way had eaten away at his heart, corroding to the last bone of his reptilesque being.

He'd barely come into knowledge of the death of Alphonse 50 years before, and he doubted any close family of his (he mechanically grimaced at the thought) had outlived him.

He sat idly, killing a time that would never cease passing for him, who was too proud to admit that his empty existance was as good as death in such a situation.

The source of a sound of a distant laughter he'd been ignoring for a while finally came into view, he watched through narrowed eyes as a healthy kid with freckles ran into his field of vision.

He disliked kids. But he especially disliked happy kids.

Then the kid's father irrupted into his vision as well, chasing after a ball he then kicked softly towards his boy.

Through his narrowed eyes, through his slit pupulis, the image reached his brain with a shiver that shook his bod, a soft, imaginary -_click_- telling him he should remember a scene similar to that one, but with him as a protagonist. He racketed his mind, trying to match the image with one of his own childhood.

As an explicit result of the search, amidst the joyous laughter of the pair, which echoed in his ears as an irony highlighter, a tear rolled down his face in slow motion, and that sole tear burnt more than fire itself, because it was the escence of his envy condensed.

_Sometimes you can search your whole lifetime for a thing you will never, never find._

His teeth clenched hard, his fists so tightly clutched on his arms in anger they drew blood, he didn't notice that accusing tear at all. His ears became numb as he sunk in self-conmisceration, and they heard no sound but the lazy beat of his own heart, that echoed pathetically.

The ball rolled, rolled, and was kicked, and tossed... and kicked out of view.

The ball rolled to Envy's feet.

With his features contorted in a toothy grin, the kid made a quick dash to retrieve it, the remnants of a "Hey, sir!" directed solely to Envy pumping in the sin's ears, with null effect.

Another "Hey, sir!" that sounded fresher, closer, shook Envy awake, back to the reality of the father waiting, watching with a smile that only a proud man can muster, how his boy got the toy back.

To continue the father-son game.

All that pent up anger, frustration and heartwretch amalgamed and confluenced in one concise feeling: envy.

"Hey sir, could you kick that ball my way?"

_Because the others had what he hadn't, didn't, and wouldn't have._

"Hey sir, could you---"

His face lit up with a scornful smile, an expression of the relieving glee he felt at seeing the father's calm, sickeningly proud look mutate immediately, a strange mixture of rage and horror displaying quite amorously on his face.

His grip on the kid's neck was tight enough to make it impossible for the young one to articulate any, even if puny, word.

Now, Envy looked down. Was he feeling an ant marching on his extended arm?. No. He glanced at the father with well-faked indifference, who tugged desperately at the iron-feeling limb to free the squirming kid, lifted from the ground by the sin's inhuman strength. He was screaming also, but Envy didn't pay him the slightest bit of attention. He continued watching, almost with insane fascination, as the kid ran out of breath. Until, annoyed at the constant nagging of the father digging his nails deep into his skin, he tossed the barely alive infant aside, with such a luck, he hit his neck against the white bench, after a hushed _snap_. A small trail of blood trickled down the kid's mouth; and his inert fingers brushed against the ball, which rolled forwards a pathetic couple of centimeters.

The father only outlived the son enough to hear these words, which appeared strange and meaningless...

"I'm sick -_sick­_- of watching from the sidelines."

Another inert, still body fell on the vivid green grass, and Envy was strangely grateful that it was raining.

"I always played alone", he whispered hollowly, and looked up at the vibrant blue sky, where a radiant sun was shining.

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_Feedback makes your daily sappy envious-angst provider happy. And guess what, she needs it. _

_So, feedback, it is!... Or, is it? _

_Pweeease!_


	9. Incognito

(I realized yesternight I have a Peter Pan complex n-nU)

_**Incognito**_

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He was looking at the family portrait, when he thought he was alone. 

He was thinking, "Well, nothing changed much," and was staring back at the moonlight rays that through his window gave him a shadow.

He was just smiling to himself and it was a surreal smile, and he was opening the window and rushing outside.

His naked feet were feeling the cold wet grass and he was alive, breathing as if he had never been less than only a child.

Inside, the family portrait was the stagnant requiem for an evanescent innocence. And under the moonlight, he was smiling, smiling like the one he never was and just existing, and sensing and feeling and lost in a pethetic daydream of a daze.

He wasn't happy.

Just the moon and no stars and a smile of content that was really very empty. He was walking, running, standing; the sky was so big and his body so small.

He was walking back to the window, without hurry. He'd snook out of his room and was just the same way returning, some things were just better left incognito: the things that he did without knowing why. His smile was fading and his feet were dirty and wet, but no one would notice the following morning or the morning after never the dry footsteps towards his bed- no one would ever check the bedsheets for beads of grass or traces of out of place dew.

He was falling asleep, into a dreamless limbo.

Lust stood on the doorsill.

"That man never grew up."

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_**The parts that seemed rushed are on purpose.**_

**_Review, right:P_**


	10. Days

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(You told me that you'd wait forever)

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**D**o, live, breathe. That's what I'm supposed to do. Exist. That's what it's all about for real.  
**A**nytime, the window's there. If the scenery is the color of the window: won't you say the window's biased?  
**Y**ou won't. Why?  
**S**imply because you've never looked at it long enough to see, or deep enough to care.

**O**verstatement, then, to say I have. And why have I? Because _living_ is different from _being_.  
**F**rom _existing_. I exist. In my room there's a window. I can exist without prejudice by it.

**M**ore than I'd wish, I know that probably the sky knows me more than the people that breathe around me.  
**Y**esterday, or was it the day before yesterday? (_Yestermonth? Yesteryear?_) I realized I hate them because they don't see me, but I see them.

**L**iving will always be more than existing. It must be me... the world's bent on showing off how much fun it's having when I'm not invited.  
**I **don't care. I'll scream I don't care. I'm my own, and my window's enough. That sky outside is all mine, I'll laugh and then they won't care.  
**F**orever seems long enough to prove my point: the window's the color of the scenery, because the window _exists_ but the scenery _lives_.  
**E**ach and all the days of my life, which is forever, seems long enough time to learn to accept that I don't live. I only exist.

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Again, a piece that doesn't make much sense.**

**Or perhaps, it makes too much sense.**

**Based on that song, "Summer of '69". I can't believe I can get so melancholic :P**


	11. Alphabet

_**Alphabet**_

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A for Anything, 

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B for Bones,

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C for Cruel,

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CH for CHeat,

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D for Death,

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E for Empty,

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F for Fake,

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G for Guiltless,

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H for Heart,

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I for Idillic,

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J for Jaded,

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K for Kill

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L for Lost,

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M for Monster,

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N for Naked,

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O for Oath,

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P for Parent

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Q for Quash,

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R for Replica,

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S for Solitude,

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T for Tarnished,

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U for Ultimate,

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V for Vengeance,

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W for Walls,

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X for X-rayed,

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Y for Years

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Z for Zero

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The alphabet ends and reruns, but the letters I need to name what I feel haven't been invented yet.

They never will.

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Mmmh, estoy re bajoneada. Enf, seriamente necesito L'Arc-en-Ciel...


	12. Sometimes

**...Sometimes.**

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Sometimes, I wonder,  
when it's all shaken by thunder,  
how come people don't see,  
all they could make the world be. 

If you think of it this way,  
there's not too much to say,  
when you make life like you please,  
you can also make it cease.

But if you're just passing through,  
like it all can end real soon,  
shouldn't there be much more,  
to all things we have for sure?

If everyone's their own,  
of course there's more than we're shown,  
behind the cores there are walls,  
and behind, each one falls.

If life could be what I wish,  
wouldn't all choices be stiff?  
If I could be what I want,  
wouldn't I be what you can't?

Probably I'll never know,  
mostly, those things never show.  
People are false, they all act.  
I do know that for a fact.

Welcome to life as it is:  
far from what we all believe.  
Nothing is never for real,  
even a life, you can steal.

So can you make your own way?  
I tell you it's not easy as they say.  
I've been around for a while,  
nobody'll care if you die.

Sometimes, the world from afar seems like the best place to be.  
(Right, as if there actually were other choices...)

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**Felt like writing some rhymes :) R&R!**


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